O soul, you worry too much. You have seen your own strength. You have seen your own beauty. You have seen your golden wings. Of anything less, why do you worry? You are in truth the soul, of the soul, of the soul.
For the soul there is neither birth nor death at any time. He has not come into being, does not come into being, and will not come into being. He is unborn, eternal, ever-existing and primeval. He is not slain when the body is slain.
When an exalted soul realises that all sentient beings are one in relation to the Supreme – that is, that all beings are the minute parts of the One – how shall he have any more delusion and what grief will come to him?
One who identifies himself with his soul regards bodily transmigration of his soul at death fearlessly, like changing one cloth for another.
